Labels

Friday, March 30, 2018

Booties, in my series of "future grandmother knits". Nothing in view! But I have five kids and I am a slow knitter, nothing like planning ahead. (free pattern at link) Send me a message on Ravelry, if you knit too! I am: deartricot.

Hospital Knitting: whatever Gael picked; he chose the zombie (really not auspicious, to my way of thinking, but it was his call), so I knit the zombie, and the dirt grave to go with it. Talk about giving way to one's darker impulses.

The owl born of a skein of yarn that "looked like an owl" (free pattern at link)

The greatest fear of any mother is for the loss of a child. I came face-to-face with this fear three days ago and I am grateful to be on the other side of it, for now. Life is so, so precious. Children are the greatest gift, bestowed by heaven but they are not ours to keep, only ours to love and care for, as they pass through our wombs and through our lives. But it is a hard lesson to remember.

My darling youngest boy went from flu to walking pneumonia to rhabdomyolysis in the blink of an eye, and from "recovering" to stat blood work and hospitalization faster than I knew possible. He is home and well, and he never knew how close he was to truly not well, but I did. And it was terrifying. I could clearly see the catastrophe of a young life lost because of a technical failure. I could very well imagine the muscle loss breaking down proteins that led to kidney failure and...the unmentionable.

At the time, I was dealing with the all-encompassing pain and fear of my baby (no matter how old, every child will remain forever your baby). He was in absolute dread of a needle, any needle, and especially the IV insertion. The two blood tests of the preceding days had drained him of all his courage. What he desperately needed, now, however, was an IV delivering fluids to begin to restore what he had lost.

Things went downhill, to begin with, at the infiltration of the initial IV site, which meant pain, swelling, redness, and a redo after about a half hour. Then it was failed attempt after failed attempt to place the port in a vein in a way that would allow the fluid to flow. He bit into his stuffed reindeer and did not cry, though he was terrified of doing it all again. I smiled and told him how brave he was and that now he would never be afraid of a mere needle again. I did not show that I was dying inside and losing faith by the minute that life would ever be the same again because things were proceeding in a way that only tv shows and that ER article in the New York Times ever talked about. The sixth attempt, over three hours later, finally took. The nurses were kindness itself, but I still really wanted to blame, yell, punch, shake someone into action. I refrained, and stayed focused on looking and acting calm for my kiddo.

I know families who go through this on a monthly or weekly basis for a child. My heart goes out to you. There is nothing so hard.

He is well, and the whole family is grateful. Easter is soon to come with the celebration of life reborn, of the spring come again. I thank the Universe, the Great Mother and the Lord above, that my children live, one more day.

Friday, March 16, 2018

Dang; do I need two apostrophes for "don't's"? That looks stupid, never mind. Your list then, ladies and gentlemen:

If a loved one has the flu, thou shalt NOT:

1) Look up the latest news story detailing all of the deaths from
complications caused by the flu; whether it be A, B, H or a new one just
in. It is a source of unnecessary angst.

2) Or do your very best to avoid: quickly pull up a window shade, too quickly, breaking it and assuring
no more shade for the present, while you took the opportunity to air
out a child's room while changing yet another set of soaked sheets. Said
grumpy teen was in the shower and had not wanted room aired in the
first place. Luckily, dad was working from home and we were able to
repair it with packing tape real quick before he even made it back out
of the shower.

3) Accidentally laugh whilst announcing that you are very sorry that his elbow turned out to be fractured, not just hyper-extended. This, because, even though you are truly, very sorry for him, the memory that it happened while he was arm-wrestling at the cafeteria table with another 8th grader and it is his own dang fault cracks you up every time. And it really shouldn't, not if he has the flu and you are a good mom.

However, thou shalt:

1) Provide as many cups of tea as you can force a child to down in a day.

2) Give him whatever remedies will help for pain and fever; honey, oscillococcinum, warm rice bags, back-rubbing, tv, comic books...(I draw the line at video games, they just make your head hurt.)

3) Make a quiet space for her to rest.

4) Ensure that the parent in charge takes a 30-minute break to stretch or take a walk or watch half an episode of a period show with brave warriors and braver princesses in fabulous costumes, or out of them...while on your trampoline, and another 30-minute break to sit quietly and knit or write.
;
PS A-ha! Apparently, if we want to be consistent, the correct spelling is: Dos and Don'ts. That looks stupid too. I will keep my grammatically dubious, but more aesthetically pleasing title.

Tuesday, March 13, 2018

Grumpy me HATES Daylight Savings Time. To which we just switched, here in the U.S., this past weekend. But I caught myself with a smile as the sunshine poured into my windows at around 6pm last night, and I felt a new breath of energy and optimism for the returning spring. I don't like summer either, much, in case you were wondering. Except when I do, like when things are growing and thriving and green. I'd rather have an extra month of snow right now though.

Show Choir season will end tonight with a banquet. (and an "ooomph" of relief) It has been fun this year, and so crazy that I have not one single photo to post. The above link goes to a video of one of their numbers. If you are unfamiliar with the whole show choir phenomenon; these kids can DANCE and SING. My Valentine had a solo for the first time; and she nailed it! It was not the mournful (soulful?), sweet, sad ballad, but the rockin', deep, wake-up-the-house song; her style. Parents and teachers are almost as involved as the kids, and I spent one memorable weekend trekking from one end of the venue to another, doing my duty, or "parental volunteer commitment," for 25 hours, give or take. Come to think of it, it was not memorable, it is all a blur.

Boy Scouts has managed to take up another good chunk of my time; to which, as with Show Choir, I have gracefully submitted. It was either that or spend my time grumbling about how much of my life it takes up. This beautiful, loyal Troop 7, all showed up to welcome Gael as a new member, for his bridging ceremony. I was touched. Here, his brother putting on his new neckerchief:

There I am; third, doting mom from the left, he is third Webelo from same:

A big chunk of Troop 7, and their parents:

From the memorial service for Dave Hill, Scoutmaster. The saddest day in a sad month. Someone great has passed our way, and passed on. There are not many like him, and he meant a great deal to Charles; mentor, buddy, motivator.

I am dawdling over my screen when I really should be folding laundry or exercising. Don't forget your good intentions when it comes to moving more. Go, get up! I'll see you outside.

Follow by Email

About Me

This is my chronicle of pursuing knowledge, balance, nature in our lives, a Waldorf education, good food, wisdom and laughter, with my five kids and French husband, here, along the banks of the Mississippi and in France.